|When Lucy Tracy was a very little girl, her mother had a beautiful
yellow bird. He was quite tame, and would come out of his cage, and sit
upon Mrs. Tracy's plants, and then fly upon the breakfast table, and
pick the crumbs from the white cloth, while Lucy and her lather and
mother were eating their breakfast.
Little Lucy had no brother or sister to eat breakfast with her; so that
she enjoyed very much having Black-pate, as she called him, from the
black tuft on his head. She could chatter to him, as if he were no older
than herself. And she would often give him lumps of sugar.
He liked very much to fly into a basin of water and flatter his wings,
bob his head in and out, and spatter Lucy's face Then she would laugh
and clap her would peck at, while she held them in her fingers, and he
would do it again, as if to make her laugh the more.
She would stand by her mother, as she filled his glass cups, one with
hemp-seed and the other with water, and brush all the old seeds from the
bottom of his cage; for birds love a clean cage, as well as little girls
love a clean house.
[Illustration: 008]
He was not a Canary bird; but one of the wild yellow birds, that fly
about in the woods and fields. He did not seem to mourn his liberty, but
appeared generally very happy in his wire house. His kind mistress took
good care of him. She never trusted any one but herself to wash his cage
or give him food. She knew poor birds often to suffer from hunger and
thirst, by the neglect of those who are _told_ to take care of them. She
would often say to Lucy, "It is a hard thing, my little girl, to be shut
up in a cage, as this poor bird is; therefore, we ought to do all we
can to make him comfortable. It is very wicked to let little birds want
seeds, or water, either to drink, or wash themselves in."
"But mother, if he don't like his cage, what makes him sing so sweetly,
when he flies into it, after he has washed himself in the little basin
you keep for him? That don't look as if he were unhappy."
"I did not say that he was unhappy; but he has a feeling of confinement,
when he flies against the wires of his cage, as if he wished to get out;
just as you have when you find yourself shut up in a room, when _you_
wish to get out. He sings to show his gratitude for his food, and while
he is eating, feels quite as happy as when he is in his native woods;
but after he has done, he wants to fly about just as you want to run.
Soon he is hungry again; and then goes to his seeds to eat; and again
sings his thanks."
"But, mother, if you think poor Black-pate is not happy, why don't you
let him fly away, and go into the green woods again?"
"Why, Lucy, look out of the window, ana see if there be any green
woods where he _can_ fly?" Lucy ran to the window, but soon returned,
exclaiming, "Oh dear! no, mother; the ground is all covered with snow;
and the trees are all frost instead of leaves. Poor Black-pate! you are
better where you are, for the cold snow would freeze your little, feet
and you could find no seeds upon the frosty trees and bushes. Wait till
spring comes; and then, mother, shan't you let him fly, if he chooses?"
"Yes, I only bought him of the boys, who brought him here in the
beginning of winter, to keep him until the warm spring comes, I told
them I would take him at the price they named, if they would not catch
any more, which they promised."
In about a month from this time, the snow was all gone--the buds upon
the trees began to swell, and some of them had burst into leaves.
The sun was quite warm; and Lucy remembered her mother's promise to
Black-pate. One morning, just before the sun rose. Mrs. Tracy called her
little daughter to walk with her into the garden. "Come, Lucy, let us
see if Black-pate would like to bid us good bye this fine morning."
Mr. Tracy took the cage, and Mrs. Tracy and Lucy followed him into
the garden; he hung it upon a tree, that was nearly covered with young
leaves, and opened the door. The bird flew in and out several times.
After breakfast, Lucy sat down with her mother, in a parlor, that led
to a piazza, looking into the garden, to study her lesson. Often she
started up from her book and ran out, to see if Black-pate was still
there. Her mother did not speak to her, for some time. He at
times, peeked at the leaves, flew from bough to bough, sung some of its
sweetest notes, but did not fly out of the garden. They left the cage
upon the tree, and Black-pate at liberty to go or stay, just as he
pleased.
[Illustration: 012]